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THE   WINDOW

dirty foot and washing it, when she thus admonished
them so very severely about that wretched atheist
who had chased them to—or, speaking accurately,
been invited to stay with them in—the Isle of
Skye.

** There'll be no landing at the Lighthouse
to-morrow," said Charles Tansley, clapping his
hands together as he stood at the window with
her husband. Surely, he had said enough. She
wished they would both leave her and James alone
and go on talking. She looked at him. He was
such a miserable specimen, the children said, all
humps and hollows. He couldn't play cricket;
he poked; he shuffled. He was a sarcastic brute,
Andrew said. They knew what he liked best—
to be for ever walking up and down, up and down,
with Mr. Ramsay, and saying who had won this,
who had won that, who was a " first-rate man " at
Latin verses, who was " brilliant but I think
fundamentally unsound ", who was undoubtedly
the " ablest fellow in Balliol ", who had buried
his light temporarily at Bristol or Bedford, but
was bound to be heard of later when his Prolego-
mena, of which Mr. Tansley had the first pages
in proof with him if Mr, Ramsay would like to
see them, to some branch of mathematics or
philosophy saw the light of day. That was what
they talked about.

B                                                                       17